The entire village had awakened for such an occasion. And the entire village was looking at her. She was decked out in the youthful attire of their goddess, Athra, and before her stood the Martrisse and a series of sacred, wicker baskets before her.
Though the sun had barely begun to rise, she could feel heat rise from her body as her heart pounding and her insides all tightened at once. Had she still been walking, as opposed to now, being paused before the Matrisse and the ceremonial fires lit all around her, she might have fainted. And at such an idea to appear so weak made her angry. It was that anger that sobered her, and she tried to remind herself the basket with the feather was not meant for her. So when the Matrisse went on with the sacred prayer, and Brynhalla was asked to kneel, she did so and was quick to make silent, fervent prayers to their goddess.
Then the mask of Athra was brought before her, stunning and adorned with many colorful feathers. She hesitated for but a moment before accepting the heavy piece and slipping it on over her head. And the mask was stifling, her vision, nearly blinding as she was asked to stand. She felt her legs become shaky as she did, and her balance was hard to keep, for the mask made her head weigh so much more. But once standing, she was aske to turn around, and to face the crowd of her people as they all began to repeat the prayer of their Martrisse, and soon Brynhalla was offered a sacred goblet filled with blood wine.
Asked to drnk it all, Brynhalla wasted no time in downing it all, and as the warmth rushed through her, she felt her head swimming. Soon the entire tribe was shouting, singing as priestess all stood around Brynhalla in a moving circle. When the song had ended, the priestesses stopped, and Brynhalla's vision was still swimming. She barely heard the directions for her to finally select as basket, and for a moment, remained frozen in place.
Desperately, she tried to see if she could deduce which basket held the feather so as to avoid it, but there were no indications or clues as to which one it might yield. She frowned, her mind racing, heart hammering. She felt the weight of everyones stares and closed her eyes for a moment, and prayed yet again.
'Please, oh, Athra.. do not let me get the feather.'
Opening her eyes, she stared at the priestess immediately infront of her, and slowly strolled up to her, with as much confidence as she could muster. And with her chin held high, she paused before her, her bravery waivering before she caught sight of the familiar eyes of Thoronir.
Her heart dropped and her stomach tightened as she felt sweat cling stickily to her body. She held her breath, dropping her gaze from his to the bakset before her before stepping forth and opening it. And she stared into the darkness, seeing nothing and breathed out a sigh of relief. That was, until a beam of sunlight came dancing from over her shoulder to reveal the white feather within.